Going Home
by 7moondance
Summary: Everything changes after Dorothy witnesses her father's murder.  Her home and family are gone forever.  Is she really devoid of emotion or is it just a facade?  Rated M for thematic elements.
1. Chapter 1

Thank you Pygmalion for help with grammar, syntax and pointing out some of the gaping plot holes in this story. Thank you Zola for your help with the final editing and neatly finding solutions to problems that kept me up for days.

I don't own Big O, Sunrise etc. If I did we all would be looking forward to Big O, Season 7.

**GOING HOME**

As she opened the cover of Roger's piano, Dorothy remembered the last time she played for her father. For a moment it was almost as if she was actually back in her old home. She saw the colors of the oriental carpet, the warm glow of firelight reflecting from the wallpaper and her father's loving smile as he listened to her play.

Miguel Soldano was grumbling about modern music. "It's either too brassy or has a violin section sugary enough to give a man diabetes."

The corners of her mouth lifted slightly when she remembered how her father winked at her, then, with a serious expression, turned to Soldano. "Are you saying, Miguel, that today's music has too much sax and violins?" After a short pause, both men had burst out laughing. Dorothy closed her eyes and smiled at the memory.

Hearing Roger's footsteps on the stairs, she opened her eyes to the sight of a coldly elegant room with floor to ceiling windows that offered a view of rain dripping from a leaden sky. Without warning, an almost overwhelming wave of sadness washed over her. "Don't think about the past," she whispered. "Roger is home, he's safe and I am glad to see him." Repeating those words, Dorothy rose and focused her attention on her companion.

When her father had died, she'd had no idea what was to become of her, or how she could repay Roger Smith for his services. It had been Norman who had brought up the idea of her working there at the mansion. "There's quite a lot of work, especially with the megadeus so active lately," he'd said, "and I was thinking of hiring an assistant to help me keep up with the house. This solves both of our dilemmas nicely."

Dorothy had taken her new responsibilities seriously. Her sense of pride would not allow her to accept charity, so she was determined to work as hard as she could to repay Norman and Roger for their kindness. If it weren't for them, she would have nothing. She also knew that as the Dominus of Big O, Roger had a lot of responsibility, and she did not want to burden him with her own petty concerns.

Dorothy needed all the strength and pride she could muster to adapt to her new home. Roger Smith was a man of character and integrity and possessed a strong sense of honor, but he was also judgmental, highly opinionated, short-tempered, and at times tactless. His offhand remarks about her android nature often hurt Dorothy's feelings. Fortunately, he had few defenses against her subtle wit and she quickly learned how to put him in his place.

Her sense of duty and staunch self-discipline helped Dorothy maintain a calm exterior even as she grieved for her home, her father, and the safe, predictable world she once knew. She maintained her façade flawlessly until one afternoon, when, as she and Norman were preparing dinner, the butler cut his hand.

Dorothy cried out, dropped to her knees and covered her ears to shut out the sound of someone screaming. It wasn't until she heard Norman calling her name that she realized she was the one screaming.

"I'm sorry Norman, I'm sorry," she whimpered. "You're bleeding. I should have done something. I should have done more. This is my fault. There's so much blood. I should have… I should have saved …"

"Dorothy," said Norman taking a towel from the rack and pressing it over his hand. "It's just a small cut. Why don't you find a small butterfly plaster and some antiseptic then you can help me patch myself up?"

She instantly returned to her normal self. "Of course, Norman," she replied in her soft monotone.

The butler looked at her closely as she dressed his wound. "Why don't we take a break, my dear? You put the kettle on and I'll get the teacups." He waited to speak until they were sitting at the kitchen table. "You have been through a lot in the past few weeks," he said. "Sometimes it helps to talk to someone."

She looked at him for a moment. Suddenly the words tumbled out, "Norman, something is wrong with my programming," she said. "My thoughts are illogical. Roger protects me, but I don't feel safe. I have a suitable place to live, but I want to go home. I know that there was nothing I could have done to help my father but I feel that it is my fault he is dead."

Norman reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "There is nothing wrong with your programming," he said calmly. "What you are feeling is called grief. You are grieving the loss of your father. It is quite normal for you to feel this way."

Dorothy paused as she considered Norman's words. "Will I always feel this way?" she asked.

"You will always feel sad when you remember your father, my dear, but after a while the feelings will become easier to bear," he answered.

"Norman, do you believe in life after death?" Her tone gave no hint of how important the question was to her.

"Yes, Dorothy, I do," he said. "Why do you ask?"

"Once I found a book of old songs called spirituals." The memory was vivid in her mind. She heard herself humming the melodies as she leafed through the yellowed crumbling pages. She remembered how carefully she had propped the book up on the music stand before playing the deceptively simple songs about love, loss and faith. At first she had thought that the spirituals were unspeakably sad, but now she understood why her father had called them songs of hope. "They say that when we die go to a place called Paradise and spend eternity with the people we love. They called it 'going home.' Is that true for androids too?"

Norman smiled. "I firmly believe it is true for everybody."

Dorothy turned away to think about what he had told her. Looking out of the kitchen window, she watched the clouds part to reveal a small piece of clear blue sky. "Some day I will go home and see Father and Uncle Miguel," she said quietly. "That's a comforting thought."

The soft whistle of the teakettle interrupted their conversation. "I've always been curious about your life before you came to live with us," Norman said as he watched her pour hot water into the teapot. "What was it like?"

Dorothy felt better after talking to Norman and as time passed, she found that his predictions were correct. She could never think of her father or her old home without feeling sad, but the intensity of her grief faded. Gradually she taught herself to think of Roger and Norman as her family and their home as hers. Dorothy continued to confide in Norman but, as her sense of duty reasserted itself, she insisted that he not tell Roger about their conversations or her reaction when he cut his hand. "Roger has more important things to think about," she stated.

Her talks with Norman helped her to deal with her father's death while the sameness of her daily routine helped restore a sense of order and predictability to her world. Still, it wasn't enough to fully undo the damage. The blithe, trusting young girl that Timothy Wayneright knew, the girl who sang at the Nightingale, was gone. She had been replaced by a somber, fearful young woman who hid her true feelings behind a mask of impassivity.

Dorothy was always on guard. She spent hours standing on the parapets of the mansion watching for anything that might harm her new family. She was particularly concerned about Roger's safety and worried about him incessantly. She even stole into his bedroom at night to watch over him as he slept. If anyone had suggested that her obsessive vigilance stemmed from fear of losing him as she had lost her father, she would not have believed it. Dorothy had become so skillful at hiding her feelings from others that she did not realize how adept she was at hiding her feelings from herself.

It wasn't until she was kidnapped that the wall of deceptions she used to maintain her self-control began to crumble. As the scorpion bot lifted her away from Roger's outstretched hand she heard him pleading with her to fight back and break free. Dorothy realized with a small shock that she didn't want to break free. That is what he would do, change, adapt, and fight back. But she wasn't strong like he was. "I am what I am. I am not like you, Roger." She couldn't fight any more.

She remembered every detail of the removal of her core memory with a degree of clarity unusual even for an android. She remembered every word, every sound, every feeling. She could recall the exact angle of Beck's eyebrows as he told her that he would make her ordeal as quick and painless as possible, the sounds the wire cutters made as they cut through her circuits and the glare of the overhead lights.

The clearest memory of all was the feeling of terror as the last of her defenses crumbled and she was no longer able to ignore her emotions. Fear, anger and grief escaped from the prison she had built for them and nearly consumed her. Finally though, as the last of her circuits were removed, there came a blissful sense of relief as she slowly ceased to feel. She relished the sense of not being and would have stayed that way forever if she had not heard a voice calling to her as Big O sank into the ocean. Sensing Roger's fear and his intense desire to live, Dorothy fought her way back to her body, abandoning her refuge to save him.

In the days that followed, she discovered that the strength that had helped her to carry on for so long was gone. She thought about talking to Norman about her feelings but lately it was so hard to think. She wasn't sure if she could focus long enough to put what she felt into words. Dorothy no longer felt safe and, since for her, home and feeling safe were inextricably tied together, she stopped thinking of the Smith mansion as her home. Worst of all she began to re-live the events surrounding the violent deaths of Soldano and her father.

Dorothy's pride and sense of duty kept her from allowing anyone to know what she was going through, but she paid a high price. Pretending that there was nothing wrong took so much energy she had little left over for anything else.

At first the changes in her behavior were so subtle that even Norman didn't notice. He realized that something was amiss when, after their chores were completed, Dorothy sat down at the piano. As she opened the cover he walked toward the kitchen stairs expecting to hear music but never did. Puzzled, he turned and went back in time to see her close the cover back over the keys as if she was too tired to play. She then walked to the balcony and sat down with her back against a pillar. Norman frowned as he saw her tuck her knees under her chin and bury her face in her arms. "She looks as if she is trying to shut out the world," he thought, following her out to the balcony.

"Dorothy," he asked her, "Are you feeling quite well?"

"I'm fine, Norman," she mumbled, not looking up.

"I'd like to check your systems, if you don't mind." She had been listless and distracted for days, and while at first he had blamed it on the enormous task of restoring the mansion to a habitable state, the work crews had finished days ago and life was almost back to normal.

She finally looked up at him, but she appeared to be looking through him. "Very well," she said, uncurling herself, and followed him to the work area.

It was about six months after what the residents of Paradigm City now called the Big Fight. Not much had changed. Roger found only a few of the answers that he sought and each answer seemed to lead to more questions. He wasn't sure if those questions would ever be answered. Since it was part of his philosophy not to focus on the past at the expense of the present, Roger decided to make returning to normal life his main priority. The first step was to repair the damages to the mansion. After the work crews left, his home looked the way it had always looked, right down to the grand piano in the living room.

There were however, some important differences. His relationships with both Angel and Dorothy changed. His friendship with Angel grew stronger and they began to trust each other more.

The greatest change in Roger's life, though, was that he now realized how much he cared for Dorothy. He had considered her as his friend and partner for a long time but after the Big Fight, he started to think of her as something more.

Dorothy had noticed that Roger seemed to look for ways to spend time with her. Many nights he brought his paperwork to the living room or simply sat listening as she played the piano. Their morning routine changed too. Instead of reading the newspaper at the breakfast table, he quickly scanned it, put it aside and talked to her. Usually she just listened.

There was a time when she would have been ecstatic over these changes and would have responded enthusiastically. Now she felt detached, as if she were watching herself from a distance. She heard Roger's words, and because she wanted to please him, tried to make the right responses. She tried to match his feelings but she didn't have the energy.

Roger watched as Dorothy stood in her usual spot on the terrace. He was puzzled by her indifference. Hadn't she been dropping hints about her feelings for him almost since they met?

She used to constantly ask him questions about love, but those questions didn't seem to arise any more. Hadn't she once referred to him as "the man she loved," although she then tried to disguise it as a joke, "to lighten the mood."

Most importantly, during the battle with Big Fau, when she sensed he was drowning, she had somehow woken from her coma to save his life. Wasn't that proof she cared for him too?

Why was she so remote?

The moon rose, outlining Dorothy's form in silver. Roger couldn't take his eyes off of her. Music played from an open window. Mesmerized, he walked over and asked her to dance. She nodded, jumped down from the railing and put her hand on his arm. At first they danced at arm's length but gradually moved closer until their arms were wrapped around each other and her head rested against his chest. They danced slower and slower then stopped and simply stood together holding each other under the night sky. He took her hand in his and was about to raise it to his lips when Norman appeared.

"Master Roger, you have a visitor," he announced.

Angel glided through the balcony doors as the music changed to a faster tempo. "May I cut in?" she asked coyly.

"Yes," said Dorothy, pulling away from Roger. "I don't know this dance."

"No problem, I'll teach you," he interjected, his hand refusing to release her.

Dorothy slipped her hand out of his. "I will watch you and learn," she said sinking down next to a column.

Roger glared at Angel. She returned his glare with a charming smile took his hand and began to dance. The music was lively and Angel was a good dancer. After several minutes he found that he was actually enjoying himself.

After their second dance ended he turned to Dorothy. "Would you like to give it a try?" he asked with an inviting grin.

Dorothy sat leaning against the column her eyes half-closed. "No thank you, Roger," she said slowly as she stood up. "I'm going in. Good night." She began to walk towards the door.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, concerned.

She paused at the door. "Nothing is wrong," she said, turning to look at him. "I'm just tired."

"Dorothy!" he sounded annoyed.

The annoyance in his voice reached through the haze that seemed to surround her lately. She remembered a time when his approval was important to her but now, she was too numb to care.

"Good night, Angel. Good night, Roger," she said politely then turned and walked into the house.

Roger stood staring as Dorothy disappeared into the house. Had he said something wrong or upset her somehow?

Angel, who had silently watched their exchange, suddenly decided that her business with him wasn't that urgent after all. "Roger, I'll call you sometime tomorrow," she told him and quickly left.

He muttered something that sounded like; "Yeah" to Angel's retreating back, and continued to stare at the empty parlor.

Roger lay awake for much of the night trying to figure out what was going on. Why did Dorothy leave? She couldn't have been tired--androids didn't get tired. Had she been upset because he danced with Angel? She hadn't acted as if she were angry or jealous. There must have been some other reason.

He wondered why he was making such a big deal over a dance. Then he remembered the way their bodies had drifted together, how wonderful it had felt as their arms slowly surrounded each other and the sweetness of her small body nestled against his. He could have held her like that her forever. "Damn it!" he muttered, yanking the bedspread from his bed and wrapping it around his shoulders. "I don't understand what happening here,"

He paced across the room. "I reach out to Dorothy, we get a little closer, and then she backs away. Why?" Resisting an impulse to race to her room and ask her point-blank what was going on, he realized that it would make more sense to talk to her in the morning.

It seemed to that an endless amount of time passed until he was finally alone with her at the breakfast table. As soon as Norman left the room he turned to her. "Why did you go in so early last night, Dorothy?" he asked quietly. "Were you upset because I danced with Angel?"

Although his manner was gentle, Dorothy couldn't miss the confusion and hurt in his voice. She hesitated, trying to find the right words. "I wasn't upset," she finally replied. "I told Angel she could cut in. It's -- since --I feel as if…"

At that moment, Norman walked in to ask Roger if he wanted more coffee. Dorothy stopped and looked away. "Damn!" fumed Roger silently. "Next time I plan to have a serious talk with Dorothy, I'm locking Norman in the broom closet."

She stood up, but before she could leave Roger strode the length of the table and stopped her. "Dorothy, I really need to talk to you. Can we talk tonight?" She nodded. "Good," he said. "I'll be home early."

Roger sensed that this was going to be an important evening and he planned to handle things like the skilled professional he was. That was until he saw Dorothy sitting so gracefully on the garden steps. His professional poise deserted him and he felt as awkward and vulnerable as a boy on his first date. He was so nervous that he didn't notice her fixed stare or the unusual rigidity of her posture.

Trying to maintain what was left of his composure, Roger sat down next to her. "I enjoyed last night, he said softly. You're a wonderful dancer."

Dorothy continued to stare straight ahead.

"I wish we hadn't been interrupted," he tried again.

She didn't move. It was as if she didn't know he was there.

"Dorothy?" Roger asked. "Dorothy, talk to me." Concerned and slightly confused, he placed one hand on her shoulder and gently turned her toward him.

She jerked back, her eyes wide and fearful. "Stop it," she cried. "Leave me alone!" Hands flailing, she pushed him away and bolted into the house.

He turned crimson with humiliation. "I don't believe it!" he muttered. "She acted as if I touched her with a cattle prod." He closed his eyes and slumped over, head in his hands. He thought about all of his attempts to bring them closer together, all of the times he tried to let her know how he felt. "I guess I have my answer, Dorothy. You told me once that you weren't like me. Now I know what you meant. You're a machine, a heartless, soul-less machine, incapable of feeling anything for anyone."

Although he would never admit it, even to himself, Dorothy's reaction left Roger feeling angry and hurt. He avoided her as much as possible after that, and when at home, spent most of his time in his office.

He was at his desk trying to concentrate on his paperwork when the sound of a soft cough made him look up to see Norman standing in front of his desk. "May I speak to you a moment, Master Roger?" he asked.

"Indeed you may, Norman, I could use a break," Roger answered with a welcoming smile.

"I'm very concerned about Miss Dorothy," the butler went right to the point. "She doesn't seem like herself lately." Roger's expression changed, but Norman ignored it. "Something is wrong," he continued. "She doesn't seem interested in anything any more. We used to have some delightful conversations. Now she hardly talks, and sir, I'm sure you've noticed how rarely she asks you questions."

Roger smiled in spite of himself. "Is that a problem?"

"You know how Miss Dorothy loves to play the piano," Norman refused to be diverted. "Lately, unless she wants to wake you, she hardly touches it. I asked her why; she said she felt too tired to play."

"Hmm. Did you check her systems?" Roger asked.

"I did so this morning and found nothing out of the ordinary," he admitted.

"Well then, I doubt there's anything wrong. Dorothy will probably be back to normal, or at least her version of normal, in a few days," said Roger, turning back to his papers. "Look, Norman, I hate to be rude but I really need to finish this. We can discuss Dorothy's problems later."

"Very good, Master Roger," murmured Norman, and left.

That night Roger stayed up much later than usual and as a result was even less appreciative of Dorothy's morning concert. "R. Dorothy Wayneright!" he shouted, slamming open the door to his bedroom. "Why do you insist upon waking me up at the crack of dawn with that vile music?"

"It is seventeen minutes past one and your eggs and toast are getting cold," replied Dorothy.

"To hell with my eggs and to hell with my toast!" he snapped. "I need to sleep and just once I'd like to wake up to something besides your damned piano."

"It's a tradition, Roger," there was a small quaver in her voice.

"To hell with your damned traditions, too!" he snarled.

Dorothy started. He had never spoken to her like that before. "I'm sorry, Roger" she said quietly and closed the piano.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "No, Dorothy, I'm ….."

Just then Norman entered the room. "There is a telephone call for you, Master Roger," he said "and the caller insists on speaking with you immediately."

Roger turned away to take the call. "We'll talk later, Dorothy," he mumbled over his shoulder.

"It was a tradition when I lived at home," whispered Dorothy. She closed her eyes and saw her father's face. She remembered his smile and the warmth of his voice telling her how much he loved waking to the music of her piano. She went to the terrace and curled up against the railing. "I miss you, Father," she murmured. "I want to go home."

Norman was very worried. He saw how Dorothy flinched when Roger slammed the door and how she seemed to withdraw after he snapped at her. Maybe a change of scenery, a visit to friends, would help.

"Dorothy, my dear," he said walking onto the balcony. "I'm afraid I made too much casserole for tonight's dinner, it would be a shame to waste it. Would you mind taking some to your friends Laura and Oliver?"

She slowly stood up. "Not at all, Norman."

"Master Roger is not likely to be home for dinner tonight, so there is very little for us to do this afternoon. Why don't you spend some time visiting your friends?" Dorothy nodded and walked toward the door, the casserole safely tucked into her market basket.

If Norman was disappointed when she returned from her errand much earlier than expected he tried not to show it. "You're back early," he said mildly. "I trust Oliver and Laura are well."

"They are," said Dorothy. "But Oliver was practicing his saxophone and the traffic was so loud. I didn't want to stay."

Roger didn't arrive at home until very late that night. His day had been a catastrophe. The call that morning had truly been an emergency; a suicidal client. He had exerted all of his skill, but the man was determined and negotiations had ended with the client's self-inflicted death.

As soon as he arrived home, he poured himself a stiff drink and climbed the stairs to the penthouse. Glancing through the French doors, he noticed Dorothy sitting on the terrace. Still smarting from her response to his overtures, Roger's first thought was to get to his room before the she saw him. He looked through the doors again then stopped struck by the way she sat huddled in the far corner of the terrace, her face buried in her arms. He opened the door and stepped onto to the terrace.

Dorothy bolted upright as soon as she heard him open the door. "How did negotiations go today?" she asked in her usual quiet manner.

"They ended with my client putting a bullet through his brain," he said.

"Oh," she said crossing over to him.

"Damn -- darn it," said Roger, glancing at her as he sipped his drink. "Maybe he was right. The man was alone in the world; he'd lost his family, he'd lost his home. His life had become a burden to him. He had the right to end it."

"I was always told that life was a gift," she said in a low voice.

"If life's a gift, then there should be no strings attached," he said. "People should have the right to end their lives without outside interference."

She looked thoughtful. "Do you really feel that way, Roger?"

At that particular moment, tired and frustrated, this was exactly how he felt. "Yes it is." Roger looked at her. "Please, Dorothy, no more questions tonight. All I want to do is finish my drink and go to bed."

"I understand, Roger. Good night." Suddenly, as if she had forgotten something important, Dorothy stopped, turned and looked into his eyes. "Roger," she said quietly. "Thank you."

He stared at her, wondering why she was thanking him. He noticed that she seemed almost relieved, as if she had finally found the solution to a problem that had been bothering her for a long time.

For some reason this reaction disturbed him. He wanted to know more, but curiosity warred with weariness and weariness won. He would talk to her about it in the morning, he decided as he walked toward his room.

Roger had honestly meant to continue their conversation. The next day, however, when she seemed happier and more relaxed, he decided to let things be for a while.

"Norman, have you noticed anything different about Dorothy?" he asked as he walked into the kitchen several days later.

"Yes I have, Master Roger," Norman responded with a wide smile. "Over the past few days I've heard her singing while she works and I'm pleased to say that at times she seems almost cheerful."

"Cheerful?" asked Roger returning Norman's smile. "Our Dorothy, cheerful? That is a change! What does she sing?"

"Mostly popular music, a little opera, and some songs she calls spirituals," answered Norman. "She said she found them in a book at Wayneright Manor. She seems to have more energy too," he continued. "After she finishes her regular duties she works on projects that I usually schedule for later in the year. When I asked her why, she looked at me and said 'Why not?' " Norman chuckled slightly. "I really didn't have a good answer." His expression became more serious as he continued. "There is one thing that worries me though. If I didn't know better, I'd say Miss Dorothy was planning to leave us soon and wanted to accomplish as much as possible before she left."

"That's preposterous, Norman," Roger snapped, trying to ignore the chill that suddenly crept down the middle of his back. "Dorothy leave? Where would she go?"

It took Roger the rest of the afternoon to convince himself that Norman was overreacting. Where indeed would Dorothy go? Why would she want to leave anyway? Her home was here, with him -- and Norman too, of course.

A few days later, Dorothy approached Roger as he stood on the balcony, and placed a strand of black pearls into his hand.

"For me?" Roger quipped.

Dorothy looked at him. "My father gave me these pearls," she said. "Roger, if anything ever happens to me, I want you to sell them to pay for my final expenses. If you don't want to sell them, keep them or give them to someone you love. Please don't bury them with me. Beautiful things should never be buried."

He was dumfounded. "Aren't you being a bit morbid, Dorothy?"

"Considering the life we lead, Roger Smith, it is sensible to plan ahead," she said simply.

He tried to shrug off a growing feeling of uneasiness. Despite her improved energy and mood over the past few days, she was still acting strangely. As she turned to leave, Roger put his hand on her arm to stop her.

"Dorothy, you haven't touched the piano in weeks," he said. "Why?"

"I don't feel like playing," she answered. "There are other things I need to do."

He frowned at her. "Like what? Norman tells me that you're doing projects that he usually schedules for later in the year. Why is it so important to do them now?"

"Why not?" asked Dorothy. "Does this bother Norman?"

"Of course not, we're just concerned about you. One minute you're sitting curled up in a ball as if you don't have enough energy to stand, the next you're whirling around the house cleaning from attic to cellar," said Roger.

"What I do not understand is why one minute you and Norman are worried because I'm too quiet, then you worry because I'm too energetic," she said. "I am fine."

"Dorothy, are you…." Roger paused, trying to find the words to ask her if she was happy.

Before he could finish his sentence, Dorothy interrupted. "By the way, Roger, I had a pleasant conversation with Angel this morning. I am beginning to like her."

He gaped at her. "You had a pleasant conversation with Angel?" he repeated.

"Close your mouth, Roger. All I said was that I find Angel's company enjoyable," she said. "Are you going out with her again tonight?"

"Whaaah!" he said.

"Does 'whaaah' mean yes, or no?" Dorothy asked.

"Uh… yeah," he stammered.

"Do you plan to be out very late?" she asked.

He reddened slightly and glared at his inquisitor. "That is none of your business, R. Dorothy Wayneright!"

"That means yes." She nodded. "I need to know so I can plan my own evening. I hope you have a good time." She turned to go and then stopped. "You know, Angel cares a lot about you." She reached over and hugged him. "You are a good man. You deserve to be happy, Roger Smith," she said, then turned away and ran into the house.

Roger was now totally confused. Dorothy and Angel becoming friends? Dorothy knowing that he had a date with Angel and sincerely wishing him a good time? And that hug! What kind of game was she playing now?

He shook his head, stared at nothing for a long moment, and then walked toward his bedroom to get ready for his date with Angel.

It was about 12:30 in the morning by the time the evening was over. As Roger drove he thought about Angel. He liked her; he liked her a lot. He knew she liked him too, but Roger and Angel were never going to be a couple. They were too self-willed, too self-centered and much too much alike. Tonight they had both realized it and agreed they would be better off as friends. Although their date had ended quite differently from the way he had imagined it would, he was relieved as well. Angel was too aggressive, too loud, too tall, and too blonde.

"Damn," he said with a grimace. "I've begun to compare every woman I meet to Dorothy, and none of them even begin to measure up. Speaking of which, I wonder what she meant by 'her' plans for the evening. Could she be seeing someone? Is that why she's been so distant? That's preposterous!" The sound of his own voice reassured him of the impossibility of it. "Roger Smith, that's absolutely preposterous!" He hit the Gryphon's accelerator, suddenly eager to be home.

In a short time, he pulled into the garage and strode to the elevator. "She couldn't have any plans for the evening that I wouldn't know about!"

He smiled with relief when he reached the penthouse and saw Dorothy standing on the terrace railing. But what was she doing? Was she trying to break off a piece of the railing with her foot? If he didn't know better, he'd say she was planning to jump and make it look like an accident. His grin widened a little at the absurdity of the idea.

Suddenly, his grin changed to a look of horror as everything came together in one terrifying moment. It was exactly what Dorothy was trying to do.

Her unusual quietness, her lack of pleasure in the things she used to love, it all made sense. It was why she had been working so hard to complete the housekeeping projects, why she had given him her pearls, and why she had pushed him toward Angel. His heart began to race faster when he remembered how she had hugged him earlier that day. She wasn't playing games, she was saying goodbye!

"Dorothy, no!" he screamed as he raced towards her.

The android was so intent on her task that she didn't notice him coming after her until he grabbed her wrist and pulled hard, sending them both crashing down onto the floor of the terrace.

She looked astounded for a moment but then recovered. "Good evening, Roger," she said calmly, looking up at him.

"What the hell were you doing?" he shouted.

"I was standing on the terrace," she said as if it were obvious. She sat up.

"Don't lie to me, Dorothy!" he demanded. "Look me in the eye and tell me what you were doing."

"I was standing on the railing of the terrace," she insisted

"Look me in the eye and tell me you weren't planning to jump," he repeated.

She looked at him and then looked away, her silence telling him as clearly as if she had screamed it out loud.

His mouth went dry. "Dorothy, what did you want?" he asked hoarsely. "Was I supposed to come home and find you broken, and…" he looked away, unable to finish the sentence.

"No Roger," she said. "There is a street cleaner that comes by here at 1:30 every morning. You would have had to identify my remains but you wouldn't have been alone. Norman and Colonel Dastun would have been there to help you."

For several moments Roger couldn't find enough breath to speak. "You had this all planned out!" he finally gasped. "It's 1:10 now. You were going to jump from the ledge at 1:15, give yourself ten, maybe fifteen minutes to die, then have the garbage men find you in the street like a piece of … like a broken …" He looked down at his hands and saw that they were shaking. Clenching them into fists he looked back up at her. "Why?" he whispered, closing his eyes so she wouldn't see the tears that were threatening to fill them. "Why?"

"I want to go home," she answered in a low voice.

"Home?" Roger stammered incredulously. "You are home. This is your home."

"No, Roger, this is not my home," she said.

"Of course it is, Dorothy. THIS is your home!" he repeated, grabbing her by the shoulders.

"I live here, but this is not my home. My home is there," she said pointing towards the sky. "There with Father. Just like in the spirituals"

"What are you talking about?" He heard her words but nothing made sense.

"My home is with my father, my family. I'll be safe there." Dorothy looked out at the city and started to stand. "I want to go home."

Roger was sweating despite the night's chill. He thought of his last client and how he had failed to stop the man's suicide. He couldn't fail, not this time, not with Dorothy. He told himself to stay calm and get her somewhere safe to start. He stood up and put his hands on her shoulders. "Let's go inside and talk."

Her gaze did not waver from the city. She pushed his hands away and started to step toward the railing.

Attempts to stay calm failed as panic overtook him. "Get inside now!" he shouted in a voice bordering on hysteria. "Now!" He dragged her into the living room, slammed the terrace doors shut, locked them and closed the drapes then positioned his body between her and the doors, as he tried desperately to regain his self-control.

He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Please," he said softly. "Help me. I don't understand. Please help me understand. Why would you want to do something like this?"

She slumped to the floor as if her legs would no longer support her. "I'm tired, Roger. I hurt, and I'm tired of feeling this way." She looked up at him. "Yes, I'm an android and cannot feel pain. But I miss them and it hurts."

He knelt down and took both of her hands in his. "Who do you miss?" he said gently.

"Father and Uncle Miguel," she whispered. "I loved them and they loved me."

"When we found Solderno, when he lay dying you acted as if you barely knew him," Roger said.

"She had to act that way," Dorothy told him.

He stared. "Who are you talking about?"

"She – I – she …." Her eyes lost focus as she began to rock. "The girl." she said in a child-like voice. "The-Girl-in-the-Green-Dress, she had to pretend she didn't care. If she showed that she cared then she would start crying and make noise and they would find her. The bad people would find her and the-Man-in-the-Black-Suit and they would take her and they would hurt the-Man-in-the-Black-Suit and he had been so kind to Uncle Miguel. The-Man-in-the-Black-Suit held Uncle Miguel as he died and crossed his arms and said a prayer and if the bad people found them, they would have taken the-Girl-in-the-Green-Dress and they would have killed the Man-in-the-Black-Suit. She couldn't let that happen." She began to rock faster, in time with the tempo of her words.

"The-Girl-in-the-Red-Dress, she should have pretended too, but the gun scared her. She tried to save her father, she tried but she couldn't save him. She is sorry, she is sorry. There was so much blood, she is sorry, Father, she is sorry, she is sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry." She mumbled the last, her face buried in the carpet.

Roger sat stunned. "I saw it happen again, Miguel Soldano, and Dr. Wayneright," she said in a monotone. She turned to look up at him. "I can't feel this way anymore. Roger, you said that life was a gift, to be lived as one wanted. I don't want to live like this. Please let me go."

"No!" he cried pulling her to him. "I can't do that. I didn't know. I never suspected that you were hurting like this," he murmured. "I thought that you acted the way you did because you were incapable of feeling. I was so wrong. All this time you were in pain. Did you think that the only way to end your pain was to end your life?" Roger's voice broke and he buried his face in her hair, unable to say anything more.

He remembered that night that he had thought she was rejecting him. Had she been reliving the night her father was killed? He had seen it before in the Military Police—shell-shock, they called it, when the mind couldn't bear what the eyes had seen. Some of them became like the walking dead, unable to take any joy or pleasure in life. It was as though they became trapped in a nightmare and were unable to move on.

It fit Dorothy's behavior perfectly, and he cursed himself for the self-centeredness that had made him blind to her distress. In the Military Police, they had ways of helping these men. There were people they could talk to, professionals trained to handle shell shock. In addition everyone in the unit would reach out in their own fashion to let the man know he wasn't alone and while it took longer for some than for others, they hadn't lost a man to the problem since they had made it standard operating procedure.

He hadn't done anything remotely like that for Dorothy, he realized with remorse, and she was younger and far less experienced than the men in his unit. No, he had simply acted as though she had an infinite capacity to cope, busying himself with his own concerns as if nothing had happened. He shuddered when he realized how close he'd come to losing her forever.

"Dorothy," he said softly cupping her face in his hands and tilting it up toward his. "What you've been through… it's too much for anyone to handle alone. You won't have to do this by yourself any more. What ever it takes to help you through this, you'll have it and I'll be with you every step of the way."

"Roger," asked Dorothy her eyes finally meeting his, "Why do you care? Why would you do this for me?"

He looked away, struggling to find the right words. "Because…because you're my Dorothy," he blurted out. He forced himself to look her in the eyes. "You're my Dorothy, and this is your home. Here, right here with me." He lightly kissed her lips, his arms tightening around her as his voice dropped to a fervent whisper. "Your home is here, with me."

Dorothy looked into Roger's eyes remembering the fear in them as he dragged her into the house and how he shook as he held her. "I caused you pain, Roger," she said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"You're not the one who should be sorry," he responded. "Whenever I was in a tough situation, you were always there, helping me, supporting me; but, all this time, I never noticed that you were so unhappy that you tried to..., wanted to..." He paused for a moment, blinking back tears, and then continued. "Please, Dorothy, promise me something. If you feel sad, please talk to someone. Promise me that you'll talk to someone. You can talk to me, Norman… anyone! Please, promise me you'll do that."

Dorothy realized how selfishly blind she had been. If she had succeeded in taking her own life then she would have been guilty of inflicting the same pain she felt on Roger and Norman and the knowledge was overwhelming. "You have my word, Roger Smith," she promised looking up at him. "I will never do anything like this again."

As she spoke, Dorothy stroked a few stray stands of hair away from Roger's forehead, then leaned against his chest and put her arms around him. For the first time in a long time, the young android felt that there was a place where she belonged, a place where she felt safe and loved. She was finally home.


	2. Chapter 2

NORMAN

_Going Home_ was intended as a one shot, an experiment to see if I could portray depression. But after seeing the pain that some good friends of mine went through when they discovered that their teenaged daughter had been cutting herself, I found that more of this story demanded to be told.

NORMAN

I was quite pleased to find Master Roger and Miss Dorothy working side by side in the kitchen until I noticed that the smile Master Roger greeted me with didn't quite reach his eyes. Dorothy was unusually focused on her task; she wished me a brief good morning and then returned her attention to adding measures of coffee to the coffee pot. The speed with which she ran to the sink made it seem as if she was using the need to fill the pot with water as an excuse to flee from our presence. Master Roger quickly ran after her as if it terrified him to let her out of his sight. I didn't wish to interfere but it was obvious that something was very wrong. I asked if I could be of any assistance. They looked at me hesitantly then, to my surprise, Master Roger put his arms around Dorothy and told her that I had a right to know what had happened.

She nodded and looked at me for the first time that morning. "Norman," she said. "Last night… if Roger hadn't stopped me, I would have done a very bad thing."

DOROTHY

Roger was correct, Norman did have a right to know what I had done, but that did not make telling him any less difficult. I knew that what I had to say would upset him or even cause him to be angry with me. After I told him, he stared at me and then hugged me tightly. "Oh my dear child," he said when he finally let me go. "Thank the Lord that Roger found you in time." I looked at his face and saw tears running down his cheeks. I wish he had been angry. It would have been easier to bear.


	3. Chapter 3

The screams were so loud that Roger could hear them over the ratcheting of the elevator as it slowly ascended to the parlor. Without waiting for the elevator to stop he forced the doors open, raced up the stairs to the edge of the terrace then froze his eyes fixed on the sight below.

Dorothy lay in the street surrounded by a glistening pool of oil. Even from where he stood several stories above the street, Roger could see that she was severely damaged. Compelling himself to move he broke free from his trance and raced to where she lay. Ignoring the oil that surrounded Dorothy's body, Roger knelt next to her and lifted her skirt which had flown up during the fall away from her face, then stopped horrified. Over half of Dorothy's face was gone, broken in the fall. Forcing his expression to remain neutral he reached his hand to what was left of her face and gently touched her cheek. With an effort that was painful to watch Dorothy turned her head toward Roger and looked into his eyes.

.  
"I'm cold," she whispered.

Roger lowered the dress over her body and then covered her with his jacket.

"Is that better?" he asked softly.

Dorothy's lips moved but no sound came out.

Are you still cold, Dorothy?" He reached down to pick her up, but when he started to put his arms around her to she screamed.

With a small cry, Roger gently laid Dorothy back on the cold pavement and then with arms dangling helplessly by his side, the Dominus of Megadeus watched as the young android's cries faded to agonized whimpers then finally ceased. After a few moments he gingerly took both of her hands into his and tried to pray, but the words refused to come. How could he pray to a God who would allow this to happen to her?

"Master Roger?"

He looked up to see his butler, Norman. He seemed to be very far away and his voice sounded as if he were at the end of a long tunnel

"Is there anything wrong?" asked Norman. "I thought I heard someone screaming." He looked past Roger. 

"Oh dear Lord!" the old man exclaimed when he saw Dorothy. "What happened?" 

"I heard screams when I came home," Roger said tonelessly returning his gaze to Dorothy. "When I looked down from the terrace Dorothy was on the ground. She was screaming. She's stopped now."

Norman put his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "I'm going to call Colonel Dastun," he said.

Roger nodded and tightened his grip on Dorothy's hands. He remained by the fallen android's side, unaware of what was going on around him until he felt something being draped over his shoulders. He turned and saw Colonel Dastun standing above him.

"I brought you a blanket," Dastun explained. "You were shaking."

The officer then turned to Norman. "Let's get Roger inside before the crime scene boys get here," he said in a low voice. "He doesn't need to see that."

"Crime scene?" asked Norman. "Surely you don't believe that there was any foul play."

"It's standard operating procedure," the Colonel replied.

Dastun turned and walked back to Roger who continued to kneel next to Dorothy, still grasping her small pale hands.

"Tell me what happened," said Dastun. In the flattest voice the officer had ever heard, Roger explained how he had come home, heard screaming and ran to the edge of the terrace to see Dorothy lying on the ground.

"She was in pain, Dan, and I couldn't do one dammed thing to help her," Roger said, emotion creeping into his voice for the first time. "When I tried to put my arms around her, I hurt her even more," he said as tears began to leak from his eyes.

"Roger, let's go up and check out the terrace. Maybe we can figure out how this happened," his friend said sympathetically.

Wordlessly the negotiator rose and led Dastun and his officers through the mansion and up to the terrace.

"Look at this, Colonel!" exclaimed one of the officers pointing to a gap where it looked as if a section of the railing had crumbled away.

"The railing may have broken under Dorothy weight when she jumped on it." Dastun remarked.

Roger watched as Dastun looked over the railing, studying the spot where Dorothy's body had landed. The Colonel's frowned then looked up with a carefully expressionless face. The young officer with him was not so careful.

"Look at the angle of her fall, Sir," he said eager to show off his recently acquired detective skills. "There's no way she could have fallen or even been pushed and landed so far…"

"Thank you, officer," Dan interrupted coldly, but it was too late. Roger rushed to the edge of the terrace, did some quick mental calculations, and then doubled over as if he had been punched in the stomach. 

"No!" he shouted, "She said that she wouldn't …she promised me, she made a promise to me!"

At that moment, the negotiator wanted nothing more than to follow Dorothy to where ever she had gone if only to find out why she left him the way she did. He began to scream her name over and over.

Roger woke up covered in sweat.

"It was just a bad dream," he muttered.

He had been having variations of the same dream since the night he came home to find Dorothy standing on the ledge of the terrace moments away from taking her own life. Until then he had no idea that Dorothy was so unhappy, so damaged by what she had witnessed and experienced. He had no idea that Dorothy's android stoicism was a mask that covered an inner pain so intense that the only way she thought she could end it was by ending her life. The whole incident had shaken the foundations of his world.

"It's only a bad dream," he repeated forcing himself to close his eyes and take slow deep breaths. Roger lay like that for a few minutes then with a muttered curse sat up, reached for his bathrobe and for the third time that week crept to Dorothy's room to watch over her while she slept.


End file.
